If I Die Young
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Elizabeta gets to thinking in the car: she's the one holding it all together, but for what? If she only could have died young. But then she'd never be in the car with him. She'd never have gotten the roses. / AusHun with a side of GerIta.


« If I Die Young » is by The Band Perry.

Dedicated to Kari, who's always willing to talk Hetalia with me.

* * *

><p><strong>If I Die Young<strong>

Elizabeta loves being in the car the most. Roderich always drives, but that's just fine by her. They take the back roads when they can. It takes longer, but she can roll down the windows. Roderich can drive slower, his knuckles loosening on the steering wheel, which he always seems to be holding a little too tightly. Elizabeta remembers watching Ludwig teach him how to drive; he claims he just doesn't care for it, but she knows it makes him uncomfortable. Yet whenever they go to leave, he pries the keys from her hand, insisting that practice makes perfect, and he will master driving. Eventually. He only ever drives with her.

She always smiles at that. Inside, she knows, he thinks learning to drive will impress her. But the truth is, she couldn't be any more impressed than she already is.

Her arm rests on the door as they drive down a country road, tall grass on either side blowing in the wind. Elizabeta rests her head on the arm, looking at her companion. His eyes are focused on the road, his ears at attention for the next direction of the GPS-Empfänger (Roderich always seems to be getting lost), something Elizabeta bought but put Ludwig's name on the previous Christmas.

That Christmas. Oh, a sad smile tugs at her lips. Gil had picked a fight with Roderich and Ludwig the week before, then Ludwig was swamped with paperwork. Feliciano was spending the day with Francis, which was fine by Elizabeta, but deep down she knew Ludwig wasn't staying late just to do paperwork. Even Roderich commented that maybe they should just cancel, no one was in the mood. They could stay in, the two of them, have their own little party. Bake cakes. Roderich would give her a piano lesson.

But she had to have her traditional German Christmas, even if it had been only the two of them, Ludwig coming home at five to midnight on Christmas Eve, defeat heavy in the air around him. Elizabeta bought all three German men books, recent German translations of classics. Roderich bought Ludwig music, and a pretty necklace for Elizabeta that she had wanted. Ludwig "bought" everyone electronics, though he had fallen asleep on the couch by then and couldn't pretend he had bought them, instead of Elizabeta, who had taken it upon herself to make everything perfect. He just hadn't been thinking straight lately was all; he always did too much at a time.

Roderich finally looks at her, hands high on the steering wheel, a slight smile present. "What?"

The Hungarian remembers him taking her aside, holding her and whispering it was one of their best Christmases yet, even as tears began to fall from her eyes. All that work, and she couldn't save the stupid holiday cheer. What did it matter? "It matters to you, and so it matters to me." And then he'd kissed her under the mistletoe, Ludwig snoring in the background somewhere.

"What?" Roderich repeats, eyes going back to the road.

"Can I turn on the radio?" Sometimes he says no, and that's fine; he's not comfortable enough with it. But his hand reaches out as hers does, soft fingers colliding, hovering, just above the button on the dashboard. Elizabeta watches him lace their fingers together, bringing her hand to his lips. He kisses it, gently, before guiding her hand back to the knob, never once taking his eyes off the road, save closing them as his lips brushed her knuckles. Her breathing slows at that.

Valentine's Day was better. Ludwig had been staying at a hotel by the office, claiming his house was too far if he had this much work. No one said anything, not even Gil, who knew better then to pick another fight after the one in December. But Antonio had told Francis, who mentioned in passing to Heracles, who informed Kiku, who called Elizabeta to check on Ludwig: Feliciano was taking a nice girl out for dinner on Valentine's Day. Ludwig, she knew, would be taking out a nice couple of pints of beer.

Roderich told her not to worry, it would pass. He'd asked her out, but Elizabeta felt too sick with worry to leave the house. So they'd had dinner in the garden, candles lighting the romantic evening. Elizabeta wore a green dress she'd bought but never shown the Austrian. Roderich, for once, wore a wide smile. It was nice to just be: no caring for others, no worrying about the future. Sitting across the table, looking into his violet eyes, Elizabeta could have died then, and it would have been more than enough for one lifetime.

She hadn't realized a new song was playing when she shifted back in her seat, the sun warming her face. It was an American song, something Alfred had played when she visited him.

"_If I die young, bury me in satin_…"

Elizabeta closed her eyes. Death: it was such a human thing, something so far away from a living country. She'd almost died young, but her country had persevered. How many others had she watched not make it though, humans and countries alike? She remembers a small blonde boy who could have been so great and handsome. Being a country, when you die, you die. There is no funeral, no body to recover. She never did say goodbye to the little boy she'd helped raise. It broke her heart to remember that.

"_Lay me down on a bed of roses_…"

When they were first married, Roderich would send her roses every Monday morning. She had never cared for them before that, but no matter where he was, no matter where she was, her roses always came, a card written in his hand attached. "Für meine schöne Erzsi." No one else ever called her Erzsi. No one else ever called her beautiful.

"_Sink me in the river at dawn_…"

After the divorce, Elizabeta had spent a lot of time sitting by the lake, watching the water ripple by. Maybe they could have kept in touch; it's not like there hadn't been something more to their marriage. But Roderich had always been so taken away with business, and so shy those few times they were left together. Elizabeta had been afraid of hurting him, of pushing him too far too fast. He had always been gentle, like a flower with delicate petals or the calm, unbroken surface of water. Some things just don't last long in this world.

"_Send me away with the words of a love song_…"

It was for the better, really. Or at least Elizabeta had always told herself that. The hardships that followed, and the war that came; they didn't see each other for a long time after that. They didn't really have a choice then.

The day she was released from Ivan's, Elizabeta had wanted nothing more than to lay in her own bed and sleep. When she'd entered the room, she saw something she hadn't seen in so many long years: a dozen red roses with a note, "Für meine schöne Erzsi." It broke something inside of her, a wall she'd built. For the first time in years, the strong Hungarian had cried.

"_Life ain't always what you think it ought to be_…"

She hasn't noticed but they've pulled over to the side of the road. Her head drifts to one side, lost in memories of days passed long ago. She's skipping lines in the song but hasn't noticed yet. Eyes watch her; she becomes aware of that much. How many nights had she wished he'd just come to her bed, hold her, look at her the way he's looking at her now? He confessed, a couple of months after she was freed, after they'd started seeing each other again, that he had wanted to go to her. "I'm not brave like you," he'd whispered to the night. "I couldn't have gone, not knowing if I would be rejected. Not knowing if I would ever hurt you."

"_The sharp knife of a short life, well_..."

Her head turns to his, resting on his shoulder. His hair tickles her ear, the side of his glasses gently pushing at her scalp. Years, they'd had. So many years, so many more than most humans could imagine having. Some days Elizabeta thinks they wasted them all on some half-forgotten dream that no one thought would work, only ever as strong as the paper their marriage had been written on. They'd let her keep the paper; she threw it in the fire first chance she got, watched the edges curl from the heat, watched the fire consume it in its never-satisfied hunger. Elizabeta, too, was never satisfied in those days.

"_Who would have thought forever could be severed by_…"

The first time he says it, she misses it. His word feels like a hum, low in his throat, vibrating against her head. He says it again.

"Erzsi."

Her body shifts to sit, unbuckling her seat belt, turning to face him. She blinks, noticing now that they're parked on the side of the road. A wind blows through her window and out his; violet eyes sparkle in the low sunlight.

"Hmm?"

His eyes are sad for a moment, taking her in. They'd decided on driving up the night before the conference, meeting Ludwig who was there already. She's got on a T-shirt Antonio bought her last time he visited Roderich, a scarf Francis had sent along with him. Her jeans are worn but they're her favorite pair, perfect for relaxing in the car. Nicer clothes are in the back; they packed it all together, dresses and cravats intermingled.

"_What I never did is done_…"

A pale hand reaches out, stroking her cheek. She leans into the touch, eyes closing, and grabs the hand, holding it tighter. Roderich's second hand pushes her hair back; she hears the rustle of clothes as he comes closer himself. "Elizabeta," he whispers, though there's no one around to overhear them.

One day she counted how many times he said he loved her. She lost count after 52, which came while making dinner. Roderich blushed when she'd pointed out how many times he said it. "I'm making up for lost chances," he had muttered. "For all the times I wanted to tell you but didn't. I won't lose you again mein lieber."

"_I've had, just enough time_…"

Lips brush before foreheads meet. Elizabeta sighs. "What will you do when I die Roderich?" She doesn't know where the words come from, but they're out of her mouth before she can stop them. And now that she's said it, something that's been in the back of her head lately, waiting, lurking, she doesn't regret voicing it.

He freezes at the words, pulling back slightly. He grabs both sides of her face, holding her eyes to his. It's like he's looking past her into her soul, weighing her heart and passing judgement. It glints in his eyes again, that sadness. Maybe he's felt the words in her air before she even said them; maybe that's why they pulled over.

"I would die without you."

There's a violin on the radio. The wind blows by again, whipping their hair, more violent this time. The sun is setting; it's getting late.

"You have always been so dramatic Roderi-"

"I mean it," he interrupts. "I would die. I cannot live without you. Not again."

"_A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar_…"

They've never spoken about it, that time between the war and their reuniting. Elizabeta's never brought it up because it's behind her. She doesn't want to shed any tears over what has happened, doesn't want to withdraw into herself again. In Roderich's arms, whatever happened doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is Roderich's arms.

She supposes Roderich must have things on his chest from then too. Ludwig told her one night how he withdrew after her and Gilbert went to live with Ivan. How Ludwig tried to cheer Roderich up, but nothing worked. He went through all the motions. He lived simply because he could not die. Another week, Ludwig had said. Another week and he's sure the Austrian would have tried to kill himself. It had all become too much.

"_They're worth so much more after I'm a goner_…"

This time she brushes his cheek, a single tear running down hers. "No you wouldn't. Austria would probably invade my former lands, if anything. You'd become bigger, stronger, by taking what was once me in. The world will forget about Hungary, but Austria would prosper again."

He closes his eyes. They both know there's a ring of truth to her words. "My people would invade but I could never do that. The world is not worth living in if there is no Hungary. Ich liebe dich."

"_And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'_…"

Her hands pull him to her, his hands running back through her hair. There is nothing sweet this time, nothing romantic about the kiss. She needs him, their lips sealed together, his tongue teasing her. He's only started that recently, but she likes it. They'd known each other for over 200 years before they kissed. How long is a girl suppose to wait?

The first couple of times they kissed, noses were always bumped. Elizabeta turned her head to the right; Roderich turned his to the left. Silently they came to the agreement that right goes first, and so Roderich shifts to match her until they come up for air, her arms around his neck, his around her back.

"Ich liebe dich," he says again, and this time they go left. She pushes his face closer, a hand on the back of his head. He makes a small noise in protest, and she knows what it's about. They pull apart for just a second and she removes his glasses, throwing them somewhere without care. Then his tongue is begging for entrance into her mouth again, then they're fighting for dominance. A phone starts ringing in the back seat, but no one pays it any attention.

His hands slide down her neck, feeling her breasts through the shirt. She pushes herself closer, as close as the small car will let them; that's something else it's started recently, and oh, she likes it so damn much. The phone keeps ringing as she slides her hands up his shirt. He's been helping Ludwig outside, Gilbert having been banished from the task for reasons yet to be shared. Roderich was never very strong, but his body has some definition outlining the muscles, a lot more than when she first saw him without his shirt. It feels nice under her hands as he pushes her own shirt up.

"_Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'_…"

The phone stops ringing, only to start again. This time Elizabeta notices the ringtone; she has to answer it.

"Hmmg," Roderich manages as she pulls away, removing his hands from her back, where they had been attempting to lay siege on her bra's hook.

"I have to answer it," she consoles him, stealing another kiss while her hands feel in the back seat for the phone in question. "Hello," she finally manages, a little bit breathless. Roderich pulls her close, nibbling at her neck. "Yes, Ludwig, I'm here with Roderich. We were on our way. … Umhum, umhum… really?"

The former Austrian Empire stops at the "really", recognizing the tone. He hears only part of what Ludwig says on the phone, but he recognizes the tone.

"Good, good, Ludwig. … Well, how good was it? … That's great dear, I'm so happy for you. … What? Yeah, we'll be there shortly. … Do you really want to know what was going on in the car that I didn't answer the- as I thought. ... Don't ask and I won't tell you Lutzy. ... Umhumm, see you later. Auf Wiedersehen!"

"So?" Roderich watches her throw the phone back in her purse, straightening out her shirt as she gets back in the seat.

"Well," she smiles. "Apparently Ludwig ran into Francis and Feliciano at the hotel. Francis excused himself, and our lovesick puppies got to talking. Ludwig thinks it went well, and now he has a date with Feliciano for tomorrow. He sounds happy about it."

Roderich smiles, reaching out to graze the side of Elizabeta's face. "Well then, shall we finish the drive?"

"Ja."

It was dark by then, the car lit up from the GPS still navigating the way.

"Roderich?" Elizabeta ventures.

"Ja Erzsi?"

"When I die, bury me in my wedding dress."

It was a stupid request; they both knew when she died, there'd be no body. Just like there wasn't for the others that had passed on. Just like there wasn't for the little boy they raised, their little boy.

"Which one?" They'd had two weddings: one before everyone centuries ago, uniting the two countries, and one privately, a few years back, uniting the two lovers.

"The satin one."

They pass a house on the quiet road; lights glow behind pulled curtains.

"Roderich?"

"Ja Erzsi?"

"Ich liebe dich."

* * *

><p><em>If I die young, bury me in satin<em>  
><em>Lay me down on a, bed of roses<em>  
><em>Sink me in the river, at dawn<em>  
><em>Send me away with the words of a love song<em>


End file.
